Posted by: SM | August 30, 2010


Greetings from the third floor! Canal Street will look pretty and clean when I go back downstairs in a few hours but last night / this morning it was like a plastic drink cup died and every other cup attended its funeral

The Salford Ladies

Drama yesterday, my wheel broke and threatened to ruin my participation; thanks to the ever so helpful Miloslav, a screw was found and I was able to go on with the show. Touch wood it remains okay today.

I was at Taurus for the tombola, grabbed the Salford Ladies for a pic. Yesterday seemed to be my day for random’s coming up asking for pictures. People that are really important anShare photos on twitter with Twitpicd happy for about a minute and then they’re gone and you never see them again…fab! I ended up chatting to an official photographer. I gave her the cold hard truth that there seemed to be a lack of good looking wheelchair people in the publicity, and talked meself into an event today. Who knows what will happen there. She was nice though, I did end up getting lumbered with her camera at various points and I think security were a bit suspicious.

It seemed to be massive dark glasses day yesterday, Mr Cotton and and Mr Krank were about again but by all accounts my attempts to be in the presence of one Sir Ian are going to be dashed. He was around on Saturday when I was taking my disco nap and isn’t expected back today. Foiled.

I’m not a huge fan of Kelis but her milkshake brought many a boy to the yard and once again I found and chatted to a great many of them. If one of them IS the actual boss of Selfridges in the city, I may have talked myself into a job after the op. I know the names of the two Scottish women I met on  the first night now, Cath and Lisa. As for the others… ships that pass. I’m going to be on a lot of people’s pictures and I invite them to find me on facebook and e-mail me (providing you are better than me at remembering names, that is).

Well done to Taurus and the S.L.U.T.S for raising £1,200 in 90 minutes!

Oh and it’s true what they say. Proper Scottish men wear nothing under their kilt.



  1. How very jealous I am of you moulty, I wish so much that I was there with you. I’d have hunted down the great Sir Ian for

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